


Glowing Dim as an Ember

by TerraYoung



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: (It's Mick), F/M, POV Second Person, Past Coldwave, Post-Episode: Seance and Sensibility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 07:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20004709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerraYoung/pseuds/TerraYoung
Summary: Prompt: Mick leaves with everyone else during Hank's funeral, and so is on the ship during the events of "Seance and Sensibility", causing his suppressed feelings for Charlie to come to the surface.Or the one where it takes a ton of alcohol and some sex dream powder for Mick to realize he has a type.





	Glowing Dim as an Ember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beware_The_Ravenstag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beware_The_Ravenstag/gifts).



For all Pretty and his mom had offered, you're not staying in their house tonight for all the money in the world. You've seen enough horror movies to know how _that_ would turn out - especially given how much of a bastard Hank'd been - so you'd given it a hard pass. Funerals have always put you on edge anyway. Mainly because you've always been shit with non-anger-related emotions, but there's a part of you that still remembers your first funeral from thirty years ago and won't let you rest during any others. 

So, you file onto the ship with just about everyone else and go through your nightly routine. Namely: beer, working on your next book, another beer, pjs, possibly a third beer, brushing your teeth, and then curling up in a bed that's still a little too big for just you. You're not sure you'll ever get used to that. 

(A little voice whispers that you don't have to, that there's someone who might be willing to keep you company on lonesome nights, but you shove it back down like always. You need a few more beers before you can tackle _that_ particular issue.)

XxXx

You jolt awake what seems like only seconds later. By the time you realize it's 'cause someone's knocking on your door, your body's gotten you up and out of bed and halfway over there. You chalk it up to leftover prison instincts as you fumble for the button. 

Charlie's leaning against the frame when the door slides open. She's got a bottle of... something in one hand and is propping herself up with the other. Her eyebrows rise after giving you a once-over. 

"Didn't take you for an early bird," Charlie says, pushing off of the wall and into your room. She shakes the bottle. "Was gonna ask if you fancied a bit of a nightcap, but I guess it's time for bad little boys to go to bed."

"I ain't little," you grumble. You flick the lights on, wincing at the sudden glare, and go to grab some glasses. 

Charlie laughs before plopping down on your recliner. You growl at her, but your heart's not in it. 

"How'd the funeral go?" Charlie asks.

You hand her a glass and sit on a nearby stool. "Like all funerals - long, boring, and full of sad people. Only interesting part is when Pretty nearly got up the nerve to let loose 'bout his old man. He chickened out in the end, though." You pour out a drink for both of you. "How's the mission?"

"Alright. Mona's got a crush on Jane Austen and we captured an Indian sex god. Business as usual, really." Charlie downs half the glass in one go. Your eyes flicker downwards when she wipes off her lips with the back of her hand. 

"He really a god?"

"He claims to be, anyway." Charlie shrugs. "Says he's immortal an' can force people to act on any kind of "repressed attraction" with some kinda powder. Sounds like rubbish to me."

"We've faced weirder," you point out. You take a sip of your drink, frowning a bit at the taste. What is it supposed to be, anyways?

"Like...?"

"Beebo."

"What the bloody hell is a 'Beebo'?" Charlie asks. 

You shudder. "Every cutesy, shmoopy stuffed animal you can think of combined with th' speech patterns of an Elmo. Used a buncha totems to merge together an' form one to fight off a giant time demon."

Charlie blinks at you, finishes her glass, and pours herself another one. "Yeah, 'm not gonna ask you to explain that."

"Good. Don't." 

"Alright then. Change of subjects - that partner you said you went to jail with? His name 'Leonard Snart' by any chance?"

"What's it to you?" You growl, hand tightening around your glass. 

"Found a locked room with his name on it," Charlie answers. "Asked Rayge 'bout it and he said to talk to you. I can put two an' two together, y'know."

"Fuckin' blabbermouth," you mutter. "Yeah, fine. Lenny was my partner. Right up until he blew himself up to keep me from dying." You take a few swallows of your beer. Whiskey? Feels like it keeps changing on - 

"So, he wasn't just your partner, he was your _partner_." 

You furrow your brow. "What's the difference?"

"You weren't just criminal partners, you were _romantic_ partners," Charlie explains. She shakes her head fondly. "Figures you have a type."

"'A type'?" You hate echoing Charlie - or anyone, really - but you're feeling like the conversation took a drastic turn when you weren't looking and left you behind in a ditch somewhere. "Who else are you talking about? 'Cause Len and Garima have nothin' in common." If you're being honest, that's what you'd liked about her. 

"Nah, Garima doesn't count. Not really." Charlie smirks, then takes a sip of her drink. "I meant me. Your type's _clearly_ snarky ex-cons." Her gaze briefly flicks to your lips. "Can't hide it from me."

"Can't hide what ain't there," you force out. 

Because you _don't_ have a... a _thing_ for Charlie. Even though her snarky comments never fail to make you laugh. Even though she draws your eyes to her every time she enters the room. Even though the two of you just _click_ in a way you haven't really felt since - 

Oh, _fuck_. 

Charlie laughs. "Look who finally figured it out." 

You down your drink and fill your cup back up instead of responding. You're not sure what to say anyways. Feelings have never been your strong suit, and this is the first time you've had romantic ones since Len. 

"I still -" you pause to let the words settle in your brain- "I still love Len. Don't know how to stop. That okay with you?"

"Polyamory's a thing, ain't it?" Charlie shrugs. After a moment, she adds, "Yeah, it's fine. You knew the bloke for thirty years. Hard to compete with that."

"It ain't competing." You lean over, cup Charlie's cheek, and gently tug her into a kiss. "Feels different than it did with Lenny, but that isn't a bad thing. Jus' different." 

Charlie grins and pulls you into a rougher, second kiss. It isn't until her arms are around your neck and one of your hands is slipping under her shirt that your brain catches up with all of what she said. Reluctantly, you push Charlie away. 

"Hang on," you say. "How'd you know I met Len thirty years ago? I never told you that. Did Haircut?"

"Nah." Charlie unwraps one of her arms so she can tap you on the forehead. "But you know it. An' since this is _your_ dream..." 

You frown. "Dream? Explains why the liquor keeps changing. And why you kissed me back."

"Can't speak for the real Charlie, but you'll never know if you don't talk to her. Might get lucky." "Charlie" slides her arm back around your neck and leans in. "Figuring it all out doesn't mean you have to wake up, though."

You've never been good at resisting temptation. 

"Works for me."

XxXx 

"Mind if I join you?" Charlie - the real one - asks. She gestures to the chair across from you. 

You shrug and pour her a glass of whiskey. When she sits down, you slide it over to her. 

"An Indian sex god turning our lives into a Bollywood number," Charlie muses. "Jus' when I thought our lives couldn't get any weirder."

"Try dealing with fucking Beebo," you mutter. You wave away Charlie's subsequent puzzled frown. "'m not drunk enough to explain that again. Ask Haircut or something."

"...Alright, then." Charlie takes a couple sips of her drink. "You drunk enough to tell me who you dreamt about?"

"Huh?"

"When we got whammied by the sex dream powder. Who'd you dream about? That partner of yours?"

You shake your head. "Nah. That shit wouldn't've worked with Len - there's no repressed attraction to work with when you were together for thirty years."

Charlie whistles, impressed. 

"Would've burned him to ashes if he tried, though." 

"Still haven't answered my question," Charlie points out before wiggling her eyebrows. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"It was you." You down your drink and slam the empty glass back onto the table. "I dreamt about you. Happy now?"

"Considering you were in my dream?" Charlie forcefully meets your gaze. "Actually, yeah." She snorts. "Helluva way to get together, though."

You focus on your empty glass. "Are we - Do y'wanna be -" 

"Yeah. An' I think we'd be trapped in some bullshit romcom next if we _didn't_ get our act together." Charlie scoots her chair over and playfully bumps your shoulder. "So what d'you think, Rory? You up to the challenge?"

"Worth a shot, ain't it?"

Charlie grins. "I'd say so."

Before you can say anything more, Charlie grabs your shirt and pulls you into a kiss. It's clumsier than the one in your dream, but all the better for it. And all the more real.


End file.
